


A carried melody

by UMsArchive



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Otabek's POV, an insight into otayuri's relationship through the years, companion fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 01:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12048534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UMsArchive/pseuds/UMsArchive
Summary: Yuri spits at Otabek that his feelings are not made of glass and throws them on the concrete himself just to prove it. They shatter in pieces almost too little to discern their meaning, but Otabek is patient and with that patience he picks them back up, he puts them back together, let's him believe they never broke in the first place. It makes him happy. And a Yuri pieced together is beautiful and makes Otabek happy, too.





	A carried melody

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [And his tune is heard on the distant hill](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10950546) by [Azuumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azuumi/pseuds/Azuumi), [UMsArchive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UMsArchive/pseuds/UMsArchive). 



> Otabek's POV from a fic I wrote a few months ago for the YOI Reverse Bang.

 

 

He's been living in a rented flat for months now and Otabek wonders when it is already expected of him to talk of a proper separation. Is it at the 6 months mark of living separately, recently passed? The one year mark, yet to come? Is it by the time Yuri stops calling him, which was right after Otabek left their house, because Otabek has been the only one initiating contact ever since? Is it then by the time Yuri stops answering his calls? Is it the moment Otabek will be watching - as he faithfully still does - Yuri's competitions on screens and will see someone else waiting to give him a kiss by the rink side? Or is it the day Yuri will be retired - as he announced to be by the end of the season - and Otabek will see no other trace of him?

 

It's probably supposed to be the moment Otabek's ready to move on, which he isn't, proven by this very moment, having canceled or postponed all of his meetings to watch the Grand Prix Final live.

. 

He would’ve watched these competitions all the same, after all. He’s been a figure skater and that world is still a part of him - in some measure. Only that he changed, many things did, and nothing is really the same.

 

It’s the day of the free skate and, admittedly, he did skip through the first two groups, much more interested in the last couple of them. There are still quite a handful of people there that he knows and a handful more that came around after he was gone. He can still very well judge complexity and correctitude in their jumps and in their choreographies. His enthusiasm… that is moderate.

 

***

 

When he picks Yuri Plisetsky up from somewhere on the corner of a street in Barcelona, Otabek doesn't have much of an intention or a plan. He's admired Yuri from afar, for his discipline, for his strength, yes. 

 

He's seen his blunt force and his determination and as he’s started gathering his own, he did it whilst wondering if they'd get along or clash.

 

Projecting one's desires and expectations like that is perhaps unhealthy, even dangerous. But he's still ended up turning Yuri Plisetsky into the goal he was aiming for, in his mind, a person he meant to be or a person he meant to have beside him, he was not quite sure himself - the lines were blurred there. 

 

But it did help him move on, rather than stagnate, as such behaviour might tend to do. Because Yuri Plisetsky was someone hard to catch up with, it kept him moving. And because he was too far out of reach to keep his mind occupied for too long, it kept him focused. Yuri Plisetsky used to be a ghost of Christmas past, reminding him of a past he ought to leave behind and outshine; he used to be a hopeful thought to keep him trusting and putting all his efforts into the future. He was important to Otabek in a way that did not surpass the bigger importance of his own self, but rather propped it up and built on it. Yuri, as a ghost or a thought affected his life a lot, but his person a very little. 

 

As he looks at Yuri across the table in a cafe one simple afternoon in Barcelona, with that glint in his eye, that flush on his cheeks, Otabek thinks how nice it would be to have him around for a while longer. Yuri has offered his friendship, yes. But he's none to choose to stay if he just doesn't feel like it. He's none to wonder at Otabek's thoughts on it if he felt like breaking this off. He can't be the kind of person to stay when he could be moving forward instead. And Otabek is not to person to desperately cling to someone else either. He doesn’t want Yuri Plisetsky’s company  _ that  _ much. He never wants people that much. He doesn’t need them. 

 

He's rather taken aback, however, when he goes and Yuri follows, when he asks and Yuri answers, when Yuri starts to leave, but turns to pull at Otabek 's sleeve to keep him close by, too. He asked to be Yuri's friend, but he's never thought much about how much of that friendship Yuri would be interested to take. He didn’t think exactly of how much he himself could offer. But he goes with the flow. 

 

They sort of keep in touch throughout the following months (Nationals and Europeans and Four Continents respectively flying by). A great deal of Yuri's messages are the blonde boy declaring himself bored as a starter, leading to a point where Otabek is sharing some music, some story or some opinion, all of them things he doesn't really know if Yuri is specifically interested in, or it's just him being 'bored'. But he doesn’t mind it. 

 

They keep close by at the one competition they still have to share after the GPF, the World Championship, and Otabek doesn't expect more than that kind of habits. Yuri complains about not having grown a single inch since the last in December all throughout, together with complaining about the hotel, the venue, the other skaters and his coach, his own routines and even his own skating. Yuri doesn’t particularly ever say nice things about Otabek’s skating, but he neither seems to have any complaints to make there. 

 

Otabek is 18 and the present season left him with a gold at Four Continents and that was all.

 

He waves Yuri goodbye after World's looking forward to seeing him at their next competition. Meanwhile, Yuri starts sending pictures - of his cat, at first, that Otabek asks about; from Yuri's rink, his rink mates around it, that Otabek asks about; old pictures from Moscow with his grandfather that Otabek asks about; pictures of costumes in progress and videos of attempted or landed quads and combination spins and step sequences ideas and Otabek is very eager to hear about all of them, pleasantly surprised at how eager Yuri seems to share. 

 

One day, he sends pictures of St Petersburg, looking like he's taking a stroll and randomly decided to take some snaps. Otabek tells him how much he loves being in that city. Yuri asks him to come be there for a while, then. He does. He has a couple DJing offers there, too, so it seems like a good occasion.   

 

He shamelessly takes the lead in Yuri’s own town, leading him towards his favorite places and foods, but Yuri doesn’t complain, no matter the number of things he still complains about. He especially complains about Katsuki Yuuri’s presence at his rink and how he and Victor Nikiforov are ‘absolutely insufferable’ and those are the most peculiar of his complaints recipients, because they’re intertwined with grudgingly excited rants about the programs they are working on and restrained worry at one nearly having snapped a bone here and the other obviously sleeping too little there. 

 

Those complaint recipients themselves knock on the glass of a cafe’s window separating the two from Yuri and Otabek and a short cheerful conversation between the four of them ends up with Yuuri and Victor stalking away as Victor’s already using up his mobile data to reserve an extra plane ticket Otabek will never be allowed to repay.

 

The days in Hasetsu, Japan, pass by quickly. He knows he should be heading home soon. He knows he should be get ready to start proper practice soon. And he’s promised his parents to visit the family before all that, too. They had called the other day to tell him they were in the country, asked if he’d join them. And it’s all nice with him and his willingness, except there’s this bent bundle of blankets and wild hair next to him on the bed, bowing over his own phone in one hand, while he’s chewing at the nails of the other. It’s past noon but they’re feeling too lazy to do anything, only having moved to eat breakfast a couple hours earlier. 

 

Not in the slightest surprising, Yuri’s complaining of being bored, on the side, casually leaning his back against Otabek’s shoulder, eyes still glued to his phone, and Otabek thinks of how natural this moment feels. How strange it was to think of a day when he’s stopped perceiving Yuri’s weight and warmth on the other side of the bed. Or room. Or house.  

“Let’s leave this Tuesday,” he tells Yuri out of the blue.

Yuri seems startled and confused for a moment “Us both?”

Otabek hastily explains himself. “You seem just as restless and since we’re supposed to start seriously training by the end of the month, I thought I could get you to visit Kazakhstan for a bit, too.” 

Yuri seems to consider that explanation as enough after a few short moments of deliberation and he’s up packing already a few minutes later when he couldn’t be bothered to move just before. Just like that. The look of it makes something in Otabek’s stomach pleasantly twist. Once. Fleetingly. But the impression of it stay, tugging upwards at the corner of his lips just a bit. 

When they arrive, Yuri looks around curiously as they head towards the house, a bit skeptically too, Otabek thinks. Perhaps the whole of it is not very impressive, definitely not thrilling to Yuri - to Otabek, who had used to spend here most of his time, until skating turned his life upside down, every moment he could catch a glimpse of the town was astonishing by default. And when Yuri sits in between Otabek’s family looking all uncomfortable and stiff and quiet, Otabek is sure this has been a selfish mistake. 

But just like Otabek himself, Yuri is used to molding perfectly against whatever loops he needs to pass through. His parents get interested and his grandmother starts doting on him. He throws himself enthusiastically into everything they do. He bickers with Karina and Maya and is in a constant competition with everybody in everything they do. He doesn’t even win every time, but he’s surprisingly not much of a sore loser off the ice. Or perhaps he’s pretty much just like on the ice, picking himself up right as he falls and launching himself into the next thing with his spirit untouched, his ego freshly challenged. Most of all, he’s always right beside Otabek all throughout. Even where Yuri’s challenged and Otabek is experienced, he catches up quickly and there he gets, right beside him. 

Otabek shows him the Charyn Canyon, which is his favorite place on earth, peaceful in a way that only unlived places can be. In that softened disposition, he tells Yuri stories from his childhood, about the canyon, about the lake. Yuri listens, looking back at him with a peculiar expression, but it’s not unsettling, it’s comforting. 

 

The sun is setting when they jump on Otabek’s motorcycle, Yuri’s arms tight around his waist, leaving directly towards Almaty. It’s getting dark and quiet, but Otabek knows the roads here well and he’s loving the whole of the ride, in its strange serenity.

 

They’ve delivered the luggage ahead and on its way that morning, but it’s late to pick it up, so Yuri sleeps in a borrowed T-shirt that falls off his shoulder and some yoga pants hanging on him too loosely for their intended purpose. His hair’s in a bun and his head is propped up on his elbows on the kitchen counter as Otabek takes care of a frying pan’s contents and simultaneously pours coffee for him and green tea for Yuri. 

 

The next days are a whirlwind of outings and introductions and laughter and then they are at the airport, exchanging that preferred morning routine for rushed bought hot cups and sandwiches in the airport after they print Yuri’s boarding ticket at an unholy early hour and they’re both too grumpy because of that to talk much. 

 

As he watches him go through security and out of his sight, Otabek’s stomach twists again, but this time it’s a sickish, vexing sensation. It feels a lot like the times he needs to leave their country house and pond and canyon behind which, he realizes with some confusion, he didn’t get the feeling of when he and Yuri left for Almaty a few days before - not that he feels any differently about his childhood hometown; it simply did not cross his mind at the time.

 

Yuri sounds more and more exhausted and evasive over skype and messages as the pre-season advances and comes to a stop and Otabek doesn’t know what to think about it. The assignments are out for Grand Prix and Yuri and Otabek have none in common and so he hopes to see what’s going on when they meet at the final. 

 

Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t qualify for the final and as Otabek streams his skating through the last two qualifiers in the series, he knows why. Yuri looks lankier and all over the place. The season is a disaster for him as he keeps on advancing in height through its entirety, being thrown off balance again and again. 

 

By the time they meet at Worlds, Yuri’s half a foot taller than him and seems tired and moody. He doesn’t follow like he used to and he shrinks back when Otabek comes near. He doesn’t medal. He doesn’t show up at the banquet. He doesn’t answer his phone.

 

At 19, Otabek leaves Worlds with silver and a lot of turmoil. He vaguely nods through his coach talking to him about all various sponsorships coming his way and requests to attend various ice shows around the globe. Out of the office and on his way home, he dials Yuri’s number, more out of habit from the past days’ attempts rather than actually having an intention to talk - Yuri answers.

 

“Hey,” Otabek says, slightly taken aback. It’s a short, hesitant conversation. 

 

Yuri’s training too much these days and he’s not in the mood to talk to people. Otabek appreciates the honesty and understands. Yuri won’t have much of a break this off-season. It is a clear warning that visits and any kind of meetups are out of question-.

 

(Otabek can see this unravelling. He can see the little while of keeping Yuri Plisetsky at his side around coming to a slowly advancing end and he finds he wasn’t all that reconciled or prepared for it to come anytime soon. Definitely not detached. Very definitely bitter.)

 

-Yuri asks when Otabek is taking his hometown trip, so that they can at least synchronize their schedule for a few days’ time.

 

_ Oh. _

  
  


Yuri arrives in Almaty in a slightly better mood. Otabek can mostly tell because he’s complaining about the usual all over again. He skips the morning jogging he said he has no way to avoid after the first day and sleeps in, head inclined slightly against Otabek’s shoulder. He excitedly eats all of Otabek’s grandmother piles on his plate, despite complaining that he couldn’t cheat on his diet. He starts talking about last year’s competitions and how he struggled in the quietness of one night at 2 AM, despite having said he wants none mentioned ever again. 

 

They get back to the house one day afternoon, limbs all soft and mellow, and Yuri’s skin caught a nice darker shade over the last days and there’s a sun-kissed blush at the top of his cheeks, aligning magically with a wide grin. His hair is a half wet, half fuzzy soft mess and he’s finally talking about winning medals again. It’s the mesmerising image that haunts Otabek all throughout qualifiers and into the GPF, where Yuri meets him.

 

It’s that day, looking across a hotel lobby, that he knows - truly knows - Yuri, no longer just a ghost or a thought, affects both his life and his person a damn lot. 

 

Yuri takes only bronze at the GPF, but he seems content and determined. At Europeans, he gets the gold and then silver at Worlds, which, again, it’s not so disappointing for him. 

 

He smiles more and laughs more and gets Otabek trudging to outings with the other skaters. Otabek has a feeling he’s taking the time to spend with Katsuki, a last time there as a competitor, and Nikiforov, unsure whether he’ll come back as anyone’s coach. 

 

The night they go separate ways again, he vividly remembers, for later and for the rest of his life, one moment in time when it feels like everything froze all around, when Yuri’s walking backwards, facing him, and he has that cheeky smile. They’re moderately drunk and it’s past 3 AM.  And it’s the first time the very vivid thought crosses his mind - I want to kiss him, I’m  _ going to _ kiss him. But it’s Yuri’s last step, passing through his own room’s door, and he doesn’t. 

 

Otabek is 20 and he is definitely head over heels and eager to kiss this guy, alright.

 

He doesn’t, when he picks Yuri up from the airport in Almaty. He doesn’t, throughout the days they spend, when it seems like he would, but it doesn’t seem like the right moment.  

 

 One night, Yuri’s lying on his back on a patch by the lake’s side on a sunny day, arms crossed at the back of his head, sunglasses on, reluctantly admitting all of those guys retiring kind of sucks. When the sun’s set and he has had a couple weak drinks, he gets just mellow enough to go as far as to say he might even miss them.

 

Otabek laughs, shaking his head slowly. Yuri reaches out with a sloppy hand to hit him, but Otabek catches it before he manages to. He doesn’t let go of it after and neither of them comment on it. Yuri talks about attempting a quad Axel.

 

A couple days later, they’re at the airport - again. Yuri’s past the first checkpoint to get through to security and as he eventually turns his back on Otabek, the latter feels like sighing in frustration. He sees Yuri stop in his track, though, and he narrows his eyes before they widen slowly as he watches the blonde talk his way back out and coming to face him, wasting no time in gripping the lapels of his jacket, pulling him forward and into a kiss.

Otabek smiles into it and returns the kiss eagerly. He’s been eager for a long while. He nearly whines when Yuri steps back again, looking at him with that cheeky grin as he walks backwards until he’s out of sight. 

Otabek is definitely very head over heels and very eager to kiss this guy many times again.

Otabek is 21 when he wins his first - and only - GPF gold and he beats Yuri to it by very little. Yuri is strangely quiet that day and later, through the exhibition and the banquet. And when they’re on their way out and towards their respective rooms - Yakov didn’t want to even hear about room sharing and  _ whatever came with that _ during a competition - Yuri is still quiet and Otabek wonders whether he should leave Yuri with his thoughts for now, until he’s ready to share what’s bothering him - if he wanted to talk about it, he would be very vocal about it by now.

He means to take Yuri to his room, further away, but Yuri stops him at Otabek’s door, fishing the keys out of Otabek’s suit and he has that cheeky smile, but - Otabek observes - his hands are slightly trembling. 

“Yuri-” Otabek narrows his eyes, glancing from his hands to his face.

Yuri looks back with a glint in his eyes, having managed to open the door. He catches Otabek’s tie, pulling him in as he walks backwards into the room. “I think you deserve a prize,” he says with a widening grin.

Otabek quirks his eyebrows and he is anything but disappointed with this development, but did he plan-?

“And what if you won?” -and Yuri’s hands are already in his hair and his lips are on Otabek’s neck and he lets his jacket hit the floor - and what was the relevance of his own question in the matter again?

“Then  _ I _ would’ve deserved a prize,” Yuri sighs into his skin. Otabek’s following laugh is cut very short by Yuri’s lips. 

***

At 23, Otabek is torn between worlds, between lives. His yearning has taken a different turn and great offers have reached his ear. The music industry will be risky on its own way yes, but actually being given the chance to produce his music is so tempting his heart aches. 

But he’ll need to retire. He’ll need to put so much work, so much sacrifice behind. 

 

He’ll need to tell Yuri, too - Yuri, patiently helping his mother in planting a couple more trees in the backyard for a nice summer shade for the years to come.  _ Their _ years to come. 

 

When it finally happens, it’s late and hesitant. Yuri spits at Otabek that his feelings are not made of glass and throws them on the concrete himself just to prove it. They shatter in pieces almost too little to discern their meaning, but Otabek is patient and with that patience he picks them back up, he puts them back together, let's him believe they never broke in the first place. It makes him happy. And a Yuri pieced together is beautiful and makes Otabek happy, too.

 

  Officially away from the ice, Otabek can no longer show the same enthusiasm about all these routines. He does not keep up with the changing rules so earnestly. He's proud of Yuri landing a first quad Axel in history, but he doesn't feel so much an enthusiasm about the Axel itself.  His joy is melancholic, his interest nostalgic. It all seems like another life that he's given up on and he wonders sometimes if Yuri would give up on him for it. It is not unusual. Love comes from the seed of common ground and understanding. Skaters better than Otabek have come and gone and some have impressed his fiance enough to encourage that spark in his eyes that he barely saw, that Otabek often tried so hard to have it be related to him. 

 

But they are engaged by now. They have moved in. It’s working. Their schedules are colliding and there are days and nights too restless and other days and nights too quiet. But they seem to make it. Otabek wants them to make it. 

 

  When the fire in Yuri is growing and it feels like the words that he's feared worst are about to come, when it seems like Yuri ' s about to leave him, Otabek tells him to stop. He shouts it high and crisp. Yuri is petrified and remains quiet. Otabek wonders whether he's crossed a line. There's only silence for a bit.  Yuri is about to say something that starts in a low, small voice. Otabek raises one hand to stop him, looking away. He turns around and leaves the room. Yuri doesn't follow him. In the hall, he stays a few moments, confused, wondering. Eventually, he leaves the house, not sure about how to come back.

 

(The worst of times isn’t when it ends. It’s having visions of the way it will end.)

 

He does that quite simply, eventually. He comes through the front door like usually, 2 days later. It's Sunday. Yuri is having a late breakfast. He looks up in surprise to see Otabek, who just greets 'hey'. It's awkward. Yuri asks him if he's hungry. He isn't. He answers affirmatively though. He doesn't feel in any position to negate anything at all in Yuri's presence right now. 

 

But they’re walking a thin line. There’s silence. And there’s tension. And Otabek doesn’t know how to hold on the right way. How to keep this together. He fails.

 

The second fight is too much. Too many things are broken. He packs up. He needs his time. He checks up on Yuri later. But he says nothing of coming back. Yuri says nothing of wanting him back. There’s no clear ultimatum. But months pass. Silence increases. The end may come. Or it might have already happened. He doesn’t even know. 

 

***

On the day of the free skate, Otabek can sense the tension and wrongness before it gets to unravel. Yuri’s body language shows restraint and a vague airiness. In a close up of his face, there’s a sudden, short twitch that has Otabek’s eyes narrowed, his breath hitched. 

 

A gasp leaves his lips when a landing ends with a questionable bend and a touchdown.  _ He’s injured _ .

 

Otabek wills himself not to close his eyes through what’s to follow when Yuri’s midair and the hand absentmindedly covering Otabek’s mouth starts trembling with the immediate acknowledgement of his trained eye -  _ he’s going to fall. _ He’s not breathing through those handful of seconds, hands gripping the screen’s edges tightly, eyes wide and plastered to the image. He breathes in deeply only when, leaning back into his armchair and crossing his arms, his body still rigid with tension as he watches Yuri painstakingly going through the rest of the routine. 

 

He tries calling Yuri plenty of times throughout the day and the night, after. Every time, he gets sent directly to voicemail. He never leaves a message.

 

***

 

It’s days after the GPF that he gets ‘an urgent call’. So his assistant says. It’s Victor Nikiforov. With ‘news about his fiance’, the message says. It’s strange for a second - connecting Yuri to that term has been questionable lately. Otabek agrees on the urgency, given the case.

 

“Otabek,” Victor picks up calmly.

 

“Hello,” Otabek starts, unsure.

 

“Have you talked to Yuri, these past days?” 

 

“No.”  _ Not in the past month _ , he doesn’t add. “He’s injured, isn’t he? He couldn’t have fallen like that if he wasn’t.”

 

“Yes. He is.” A pause. “His grandfather is dead. He got the news that day. He’s not well. He’s not home now. His phone is shut down.” There’s a surge of boiling anger inside of him and he wants to rebuke with  _ he was injured, why would you let him compete and in that state, too? _ But he knows better than to throw the blame. No one could’ve stopped Yuri if that had been what he had wanted.

 

Otabek blanches, leaning into his chair. “How long has he been gone?” Quietly.

 

“Not sure. We left him last night. He wasn’t there in the morning. We called everyone else.”  _ It’s afternoon.   _

 

“I’m coming there. We’ll talk.” 

 

But Otabek already has an idea of where he might be.

 

***

 

While getting a tank refill, Otabek checks his voicemail. He’s left his phone on airplane mode so far and he’s honestly ignoring anything that seems to be work related. He’s been hoping that Yuri-.... But that’s unlikely. It didn’t happen in months after all.

_ “Hey…”, _ the message starts. His breath hitches.  _ “I can’t believe you actually answered. H-How have you been?I- Oh, it’s voicemail. Ok. Well, I just wanted to-”  _ There’s a deep breath. _ “I never wanted things to end. I regret it all.  I really do, I swear.  Please, please– let’s fix this, please.” _

***

He spots a boot in the hallway and another at the bottom of the stairs. He smiles with amusement of Yuri just clumsily discarding them randomly, but then sobers with the realization that he might have actually been struggling due to his injury and ended up finding support by the stairs to manage it. 

He decides against the idea of knocking and opens the door to his -  _ their _ \- room slowly. He notices the handful of messy light hair first, the body concealed in a cocoon of blankets - he’s sleeping, breathing soundly. Otabek walks in quietly, his breathing coming short, sitting gingerly on the bed’s edge. He reaches out one hand, moving the hair out of Yuri’s eye, cupping his cheek with concern at how icy they felt to him. He makes a mental note of seeing about the heating system.

Yuri stirs in his sleep, intuitively leaning into Otabek, who helps him up, closing the distance, leaving his head rest on his shoulder. Yuri moves it closer, breathing into his neck.

“Hey,” Yuri breathes out groggily.

“That isn’t water in that bottle, is it?” Otabek sighs, sighting a uncapped bottle spreading a sharp smell by the bed. 

He feels Yuri’s lips curving against his neck - given the accompanying puff, it’s probably a smile. “I heard you were doing good,” Yuri answers instead.

“So and so.” He pauses.  “My parents asked about you.” A lot, really. Karina and Maya even more so. They’ve had long conversations, in fact. With his parents, it had been easier to be dismissive, but his sisters were a whole different lot.

“Grandpa asked a lot about you, too,” Yuri mumbles softly.

“I’m sorry about Nikolai, Yuri.”

“Yeah,” it’s all Yuri says softly. Otabek understands. That will do, for now. Hopefully, they’ll have time to talk more. Hopefully, they’ll have the time to do a lot more, too.

“I’m sorry about all I’ve said,” Yuri adds. Reluctancy and tension leave Otabek’s body instantly. “I thought it was over, when you left, and it was all my fault.”  _ Only it isn’t. _

“I left so it  _ wouldn’t _ be over,”  Otabek explains himself. Again, there should be more said there. They’ll do that, too. But, for now, he goes for further reassurance instead, for him, for Yuri, for both of them, “We’ve been through everything else together. This is no different,” he whispers, cupping Yuri’s face, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Thanks.” Yuri nods slowly and doesn’t add anything else or move in the slightest, his head heavier at the crook of Otabek’s neck, his breath even - he’s fallen back asleep.

***

“How did you know where to find me?” Yuri asks later. The heating is on, but Yuri’s still feeling cold, trailing his bundle of blankets everywhere.

“You weren’t in any other place you could’ve gone to. It was either here or out in the big wide world.”

Yuri scoffs weakly, “The big wide world sounds good.” Then, in a more serious tone, adds, “I’m done for.”

“You’re not-”

“I’ve been meaning to be done for. Well, not until the end of the season, but-” He inhales deeply, “I’m tired.”

“I am tired, too,” Otabek sighs and it is the gospel truth, in more ways than one.

“You weren’t quite sure I’ve gone into the big wide world insead, were you?” Yuri laughs when Otabek prepares dinner for them with groceries he has been confident enough to buy and they’re wearing fresh clothes he has been confident enough to bring. 

“No, not yet. Though you look like you need it.”

***

At breakfast, Otabek is busy by the stove once again.

“What do you want to do?” he asks eventually, not knowing himself clearly the exact meaning behind it.

Yuri takes his time, then answers, “I want to get out of all that on my own two feet and own two skates, for one. I guess I should work on getting my foot fixed quickly for that.”

“But for now-?” Otabek reads his mind.

Yuri smiles - it seems he’s got it right. “You came in a car?” he asks, eyes glinting.

“Yeah,” Otabek replies and he can already see where this is heading.

“Everything’s really shitty right now. So how about you get in this car with me and we drive to wherever for however long?”

“Let’s see the Charyn Canyon, maybe,” Otabek suggests.

They finish eating in silence and it’s a most comfortable one.

 

***

 

Otabek hasn’t felt like he truly belonged anywhere in the proximity of an ice rink in years. But just now, clapping and smiling widely as Yuri bows his last after his final exhibition, a World champion for a new and last time, it feels just right. But then again, it might have little to do with the ice. It might have little to do with the music. It's him. It's Yuri. Wherever they go from here, it will still be the two of them.


End file.
